


Drawings

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Mycroft is Sweet, Sweet Greg Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: Greg draws in secret. Mycroft is his inspiration.





	Drawings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thorntonsheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorntonsheart/gifts).

> Everything belongs to Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss.  
This story came up because Thorntonsheart made a fantastic portrait of Mycroft, so this is for her and for all the fanart creators, who inspire us with so many stories.  
It is also in response to the challenge of the Facebook group Mystrade is our division Writters and Readers: a fic with the word "face".  
English is not my first language. This work was translated with the help of translator Deepl, I regret any error.

Greg silenced the little voice that, in his head, told him to leave that and pay attention to the images on the screen.  
"Just a few more lines," he said mentally. Just a quick sketch of the portrait that would end up later at home.   
After all, he didn't need to have the man in front of him to capture every feature of his face on paper.  
He lifted his head from his inseparable notebook, supported and half hidden in his lap, to find Mycroft's eyes fixed on him.  
\- Are you bored with the case, Detective Inspector Lestrade? I know that working with me is not as interesting as working with my brother, but I expected more professionalism from you.  
\- Oh, no, not at all. I was presenting attention, Mycroft, just... I took notes.  
Greg put his best innocent smile in front on the British government's raised eyebrow. He closed the notebook.  
\- Really?  
Greg forced himself not to move while the man got up and surrounded the desk reaching the notebook.  
\- Really, Mycroft, I...  
He tried unsuccessfully to recover it as he felt the blush cover his face.  
\- Well, let's see his notes, maybe he has something I've overlooked...  
Greg was paralyzed, unable to lift his gaze, as the youngest passed the leaves and tensed to his side. The silence was thick around him  
\- Gregory, this... This is... I...  
For the first time in his life, Mycroft Holmes didn't know what to say while dozens of images of himself, some in color, others in charcoal, in different situations and capturing different expressions passed before his eyes.   
He closed the notebook, as if suddenly he had surprised himself seeing something he shouldn't and left it on the desk.  
\- Gregory...  
Greg got up, standing in front of him.  
\- Look, I'm sorry, okay?. I know I don't have the right to... I don't want you to think I'm obsessed or something, it's just... I like you and... Well, you inspire me and I can't help...  
He fell silent waiting to be expelled from the office, cursing himself for being such an idiot. It had taken him years to get Mycroft to let him into his life a little bit, to trust him and now...  
\- Gregory, I... I don't know what to say. It's... This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me and...  
Greg looked at it, hopeful. The ice man's shy and moved expression made him wish he had a canvas and a brush at hand.  
\- So you're not angry?  
Mycroft smiled slightly.  
\- Oh, yeah, I'm really mad at you for wasting taxpayers' money drawing during working hours, but I admit they're great drawings, if we overlook some art licenses.  
\- Artistic licenses?  
Mycroft lowered his head, slightly embarrassed.  
\- The drawing is much more beautiful than the model, no doubt.  
Greg smiled, approaching him.  
\- I will let you know, Mr. Holmes, that I am an exceptional realistic artist and yet my portraits do not express even a small part of the beauty that the object of my inspiration possesses.  
Mycroft tensed as his eyes opened with a mixed expression of longing and panic.  
\- Gregory, I... Please don't joke. You're smart, you have to know how I feel about you. And I don't expect you to share it, but please don't play games with me. I don't...  
Greg's heart skipped a beat. He stroked Mycroft's cheek, shortening the distance even further and leaned his forehead against that of the politician.  
\- Let's have dinner. Give me new settings in which to paint you. By candlelight, or gazing at the sunrise. Who knows, maybe you could let me paint you natural, sleeping with the rolled sheets on your waist. Or without them, perhaps. I've always dreamed of being able to paint you resting, relaxed, with messy hair and your blushing skin after I've made love to you. Let me show you how beautiful you are.   
I want you to look the way I see you. Would you let me do it?  
Unable to speak, with a racing heart, Mycroft nodded, encircling his waist.   
Greg sighed happily as he hugged him, thinking he wouldn't need to paint that scene to know what would hold every detail in his memory for the rest of his life.


End file.
